Unstrung
by Lillehafrue
Summary: Clint is trying to deal with the aftermath of Loki.


_Author's note. This is a little fic that I've had in my head for a while now. I figured it was time to stop tweaking it and just get it published! Many thanks to Tikatu for putting up with my pestering. ;) Enjoy!_

_I do not own Hawkeye (sadly) or the rest of the Avengers cast. Yet..._

* * *

_2:17…_

I stared up at the ceiling, willing my mind to turn off so I could sleep. We had finished debriefing a few hours ago and Fury pulled in some favors to get us all someplace quiet, away from the mess in New York. They dropped us at a S.H.E.I.L.D. safe house upstate. Close enough to get back if we have to, but far away from the press.

It's not that bad really. It's gotten bigger since the last time I was here. The four-star kitchen is staffed twenty-four hours a day, capable of making anything the residents could possibly imagine. We each have our own suite of rooms, too. Stark took the biggest one, no big surprise there. He's up there now, eating filet mignon and lobster tail. Guess he didn't like that shwarma crap either.

_2:18…_

Next to me, Natasha shifted. I glanced over, but her back was to me. A moment later, her breathing evened out and I knew she was still asleep. Stark had smirked when Tasha had declined a room of her own and followed me to my quarters. Made some boorish comments about the two of us. He's got it wrong and I told him so. Contrary to what the others think, what she and I have isn't just about sex. Tony grinned. "Dude, it's always about sex." Captain What's-His-Name, Steve? He merely looked uncomfortable.

_2:19…_

She shifts again, her leg catching mine. I wince as she connects where the stitches are. I don't care what they say in Hollywood, glass windows and a five story fall _hurt_.

_2:20…_

I'm exhausted. I close my eyes.

_2:21…_

_2:22…_

_2:23…_

Screw this.

Sitting up, I glance over at Tasha again. The fastest way to wake an assassin is to move stealthily, so I walked normally to the door. She doesn't move.

I walk through the living room and out the glass doors to the patio. That's another new addition. All the rooms have balconies. Out of habit, I scan the area. The rooms on either side of me are dark. Out past the trees, I can see shadowy figures moving singly and in groups. Shielding us or keeping us here I wasn't sure. I don't much care either.

I stand on the balcony, breathing in the scents of the woods around me. Off in the distance, a coyote howled. That's one thing Natasha always teases me about. She thinks it's funny that I can assassinate a man (or woman) without a second thought, but I won't hunt. I can't explain it. There's just no honor, or challenge, in stalking a defenseless creature. Especially when you can head to any drive-through for a burger, twenty-four hours a day.

There is a dull thumping bass sound coming from Stark's rooms that matches the pounding in my head. We just finished fighting an alien army and he's throwing a party? Give me a friggin' break.

Suddenly, the crickets stop and I tense, slipping back into the shadows. I can't see much through the trees, but what looks like a large limousine pulls up. Almost before it stops, Stark is outside opening the door. My angle is wrong to see much, but I hear a woman's voice overlapping his. I sigh as I head back into my room. Only Tony Stark would have the balls to bring a hooker to a safe house.

I move back inside, leaving the doors open. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I sit on the couch, leaving the lights off. Given the choice between having my back to the door or the outside, I pick the door. At least a sniper will have a harder time getting me that way.

Taking a pull from the bottle, my thoughts turn back to Stark. A few days ago, who would have thought I'd be part of a team of superheroes. What are they calling us? The Avengers? Christ…

The music is still thumping from down the hall. Tony Stark. Billionaire. Genius. Smart-ass. And apparently, my new teammate. I still can't believe he flew a nuke up a space monster's ass. He also practically donated his new tower to us to use as S.H.E.I.L.D.'s headquarters. Fury's going to have to rethink this guys' Narcissus complex.

Shaking my head, I get up, my hand going to my left side as pain flares. I'm pretty sure there's a cracked rib there. Maybe two. There are a few cuts on my back that keep opening up too. I'll have to let Dr. Banner take a look in the morning.

Banner's quieter than I thought, considering his alter ego is a giant, green ogre. Being a doctor, he gave us all a quick once over when we got here. In fact, he's the one who stitched me up. He has an easy touch. I don't think I'll scar as badly as when Natasha does it. I'll never tell her that though.

A door slams and I hear footsteps fading down the hallway. A few moments later, the music stops and the footsteps return. The steps are heavy, almost militant in their rhythm. It has to be Steve….Rogers. That's his name. The super-soldier from the ice. Phil was over the moon about this guy.

Phil…

The room is suddenly too small so I grab my bow and quiver and head back out to the balcony. The cool air helps to ease the pounding in my head. Christ, less than a week ago, I was doing a routine security protocol, now I'm bunking with monsters, legends, and gods.

Gods. Never did I think I'd become the unwitting slave of Loki, a mythological Norse god. I mean, I dealt with Thor down in New Mexico a few months ago, but I was never told the details of that whole situation.

Now I wish I had been. Maybe things would have been different. Maybe I would have been able to fight Loki off. Maybe the Quinjet would still be in one piece. Maybe half of New York wouldn't have been destroyed.

Maybe Phil would still be alive.

A lump forms in my throat and I clench my eyes shut, trying to stop the grief from escaping. I wish I could get out of here. Just leave and let the wind take me where it will. Even for just a few days. Is that really too much to ask?

Snapping my bow open, I set a grappling arrow and sight on the large maple tree about twenty yards away. I could do it. I could disappear.

There was a soft click behind me. I didn't have to turn to know Natasha was there, gun trained on my back.

"Barton, put it down."

Chuckling I keep the arrow trained on the tree. "What, Natasha? Are you going to shoot me?"

"Look at me."

"Now you're just being bossy."

"_Sukin syn_, turn around!"

Before I can reply, she's suddenly on me. In a heart-beat, my bow clatters to the floor and I'm deflecting a kick to the face. Bringing my arms up, I grab her by the ankles, flipping her, causing the gun to fly out of her hands. She recovers quickly, doing a back-flip onto the small patio table. She kicks one of the chairs towards me and I easily toss it over the side of the railing.

I grab the other chair and swing it at her head. Caught off-guard, I sweep her legs out from under her. She falls to the ground somehow managing to grab me on the way down. Before I can move, she has me pinned, knife at my throat. One knee is pressing into my chest, and I clench my eyes shut, trying to breathe through the pain threatening to engulf me.

Suddenly I feel her fingers on my face, prying my eyelids open. "Dammit, Nat! What are you doing?!" I croak, blinking up at her.

"Ahem."

We both look up. Well, she does anyway; I still have her knife at my throat.

"Is everything all right here?"

I try to speak, but Natasha pushes the knife deeper. "We're fine here, Captain."

There is a pause. "Very well. Good night, Ms. Romanoff. Agent Barton."

I manage to raise one hand and wiggle it in some semblance of a wave. "Good night," I rasp. I hear the door slam and turn my gaze to my partner. "Get off."

She stares at me for a long moment, then rolls off. I lay there for a moment, trying to catch my breath. "What the hell was that about?"

"I had to see your eyes."

"It's me, Nat."

Nodding, she stands and holds a hand out to me. Without thinking, I grasp it and get to my feet. I'm unable to mask the hiss of pain as my ribs scream in protest. Natasha's eyes narrow but she doesn't say anything as she spins and marches inside.

I grab my discarded bow and follow her. She has the lights on and merely points to a stool near the counter. Resignedly, I sit and turn myself over to her ministrations. Pulling up my shirt, she runs her hands over my side. She presses gently and I wince, pushing her hands away. "Let me look." She frees her hands, and eyes me critically. Sighing, I pull the shirt off.

She swears in Russian. It must be a bad one, because I've never heard her use that particular phrase before. "What?" I ask. I crank my head around, catching of glimpse of the bruises covering my back. "Hey, you try crashing through a window with a quiver on your back."

She ignores me as she moves to my back, fingers probing the cuts. "Nat, what? Hey, ouch! Knock it off!" I spin off the chair, catching her hands in mine before she can touch me again. "And speak English!" I tell her as she opens her mouth.

She takes a deep breath. "_Eblan._. You have broken ribs."

"Yeah, I figured that out. And I'm not a dumbass." I shrug as I walk over to the fridge for another beer. Tony has the music on again, louder this time. "Look, Nat, I didn't know, I swear. I never felt it until we got back here, after the adrenaline wore off. I was going to have Banner take a look tomorrow."

"He can take a look now." She started towards the door.

Dropping the beer on the counter, I rushed after her. "Nat, wait!" I manage to snag her arm, pulling her back from the door.

Who am I kidding? She _let_ me grab her. If she wanted, she could drop me where I stand.

I stare into her eyes for a moment, a silent battle of wills between us. Finally, she relaxes. "At least let me go get the med-kit. Bruce missed a few cuts. You need them stitched."

Nodding, I let go of her arm. She brushes her hand across my cheek then slips out the door.

I watch her move down the hallway before turning and mopping up my spilt beer. I open another one, but put it down without drinking.

I'm exhausted.

Everything hurts. My body. My soul.

My heart.

I leave the bottle on the counter and start towards the bedroom. Natasha can patch me up in bed.

I'm halfway there when I hear a crash and the music stops. Pain forgotten, I bolt for the door, grabbing my bow off the table. As I slide into the hallway, arrow nocked, I realize I'm not alone.

Rogers is there, shield in one hand, gun in another. He nods to me, then turns his attention back to the commotion at the other end of the hall.

Banner is crouched in the doorway, his hand griping the doorframe tightly. I hope to hell he doesn't go all green while I'm right here next to him.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"You know as much as I do, Doc."

"Someone's coming." Rogers nods in the direction of the hallway.

I grip my bow tighter, watching. Waiting.

I hold my breath, concentrating on my surroundings. Soft footsteps, as if the walker was barefoot.

"Stand down. It's Natasha." I get up, loosening the tension in my drawstring.

The others know better than to ask if I'm sure. A moment later, Natasha appears.

"Evening, gentlemen." She pauses, one hand on her hip, the other holding the med-kit.

Rogers lowers his gun. "Ma'am. Everything all right?"

She smiles. One of those smiles that means some one is going to get it. Or that they already have. "Fine, Captain. Stark and I had a minor disagreement over the volume of his stereo."

Banner chuckled and even Rogers smiled. "He and I had a similar disagreement earlier."

"It is no longer an issue. There was a slight…malfunction of his sound equipment." Natasha's grin got wider.

Rogers laughed. "I would have done the same. Good night again." He went back into his room.

Banner stared down the hall a moment before turning to us. "Ten bucks says he has it fixed before morning."

Natasha shook her head. "I don't think Pepper is going to let that happen."

Pepper. _That's_ who the woman was. I should have known. I must be more out of it than I thought. I shake my head, trying to clear it, when things go fuzzy. Natasha is still talking to Banner, so I casually lean against the wall, hoping I don't embarrass myself and pass out at their feet.

OK, maybe I wasn't so casual. Both are at my side in an instant. "Clint?" Banner puts one hand on my shoulder. "You all right?"

I start to nod but Natasha interrupts. "No, he's not."

I glare as she hands him the med-kit. "He's got a couple of broken ribs and some cuts on his back that need stitching."

"It's nothing." I push away from the wall, heading to my room.

"I'll be the judge of that." Banner flanks one side of me, while Natasha takes the other. I raise an eyebrow at her but her eyes remain stony.

"Fine." Once inside, I sit on the stool by the counter. Banner frowns when he gently presses my ribs.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" he asks.

"No."

"Yes."

I send Natasha a scathing look. "OK, some. Nothing I can't handle."

He tilts my head up and peers into my eyes. "Headache?"

"Yeah. It wasn't bad earlier, but now it's worse." I shoot a sidewise glare at Natasha. "I wonder why that is?" She glares back.

"Hmm." Banner raises an eyebrow at that statement, but says nothing as he turns his attention to my back. "I really don't want to stitch these, they've been open too long. I will butterfly them though. That should staunch the bleeding." He works quietly and quickly. "There," he says, taping the last of my cuts. "That should do it." He peels off the gloves and moves in front of me. "Do you want something for the pain?"

I shake my head. "No, thanks."

"How about something to help you sleep?"

"No." It comes out a harsher than I intended. "Look, Doc, I'm fine. If I need anything, I'll call."

He stares at me for a moment, then nods. Gathering his things, he walks towards the door. Pausing, he turns. "Clint?"

"Yeah?"

Banner sighs, "Get some rest." Natasha walks him to the door. They're whispering about something. Then Banner nods once more in my direction and leaves. Natasha stands with her back against the door, glaring at me.

"Is there something else you needed?" I ask, turning away. I pick up my discarded beer, taking a sip from the bottle.

She walks over and places her hand on my shoulder. "Clint…"

I shrug it off. "Don't."

"You should be in bed."

I take another pull from the bottle. "I'm not tired."

She watches me for a few moments. "It's not your fault."

"Yeah, right," I snort. "Go to bed. I want to be left alone."

Instead of leaving, she curls up on the couch. "No."

I take another drink. "Where's Thor?"

"He's still at Stark Tower. He and Fury are going over how to handle this."

"And how _are_ we going to handle it?" I scoff.

"We're all meeting in Central Park tomorrow morning." She checked herself. "Later _this_ morning. Thor is taking Loki and the Tesseract back to Asgard."

I know better than to ask how she got that little tidbit of information. "I take it we're on clean-up crew?" Besides the tons of debris the Chitauri left in New York, there are still the civilians to debrief.

Natasha shook her head. "No. We're on indefinite leave."

Stunned, I turn to look at her. "What? No way. The Council will never agree to let Fury cut us loose."

"I don't think Fury gives a damn what the Council thinks. They tried to nuke the city. The death toll would have been far worse if Tony hadn't stopped that missile. That's not going to make them very popular."

Right. Death toll. Snarling, I turn and walk back towards the balcony. "How many, Natasha?"

"Does it matter?"

"Dammit, _how many?!_" I bellow as I hurl the beer bottle, not caring as it smashes against the wall.

She stares at me a long minute before she answers. "Ninety-two. One hundred and twenty-seven if you count the civilians." Her tone is matter-of-fact.

That many… Suddenly the events of the past few days catch up with me. I haven't slept or eaten. After being freed from Loki's clutches, I just got thrown right back into the thick of battle. It's overwhelming.

Everything drains out of me and I go numb. My legs buckle and I crouch down, head on my knees. I can't control the sobs that wrack my body.

Natasha kneels down next to me, placing her hands on my face and forcing me to look up at her. "It wasn't your fault."

I shake my head and try to break free but she tightens her grip. "Clint, it wasn't your fault." Her eyes soften and she pulls me close. This time, my sobs are silent as I sit back, wrapping my arms around her, breathing in her scent.

I hear a soft knock on the door and it opens. It's a testament to where my head is that I don't even care who it is. I'd almost welcome a bullet to the brain at this point. But Natasha won't let that happen.

"I heard yelling. Is he all right?" It's Banner's voice.

"_Da_….yes, he's fine." Natasha must be worried. She always reverts to Russian when she's upset.

"Clint." Banner crouches down next to us. "Clint, listen to me." I look up, not really caring what he has to say. "YOU didn't do anything, Loki did. Do you think you'd be feeling this way if you had intentionally caused all this mess?" I open my mouth to say something, but he goes on. "And don't even start with how you've been trained to resist brain-washing. Even Fury admitted he didn't know how this could have happened. If anyone can understand what you're feeling, it would be me and I'm telling you again, you are not to blame. Got it?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Doc." It's lip service. He doesn't know what I'm going through. How I was forced to steal and kill my own people. My friends. No one knows how I'm feeling. Except maybe Natasha.

He seems convinced that he's gotten through to me and squeezes my shoulder. "Good. Go to bed."

Natasha pulls me close again as Banner walks out the door. I take a shuddering breath. "Why me, Nat? Why did he take me? There were a hundred other agents there."

"Because he wanted the best." Her tone is matter-of-fact. "You said yourself the Tesseract was a door. Who knows how long he was watching from the other side."

"Phil—"

"If Phil were here, he'd be telling you the same thing."

"Nat…Loki…What if he…"

Her grip tightens around me. "Loki took you away from me once. He won't get a second chance." This isn't Natasha Romanoff talking. This is the Black Widow.

I slump forward into her arms and she softly runs her fingers through my hair. There's nothing she can say. There's nothing anyone can say.

"Enough for now, _Angel moy_. Come." She stands and helps me to my feet. Suddenly, I'm exhausted. I cling to her for a moment, partly in thanks but mostly because I'm not sure my legs will hold me. She wraps her arm around my waist, careful to avoid my bad ribs, and together, we stumble to the bedroom.

I collapse on the bed, not bothering to get undressed. Natasha goes into the bathroom, then comes out and hands me a glass of water and a small blue pill.

"No, Nat, no drugs." I roll away from her.

She rolls me back over. "You need rest." She holds the pill out again. "Don't make me force you." She smiles wickedly.

She drops it into my hand and I stare down at it a moment. "Natasha?"

Her expression softens. "I'll keep watch. He won't take you again." Her eyes bore into mine. "I promise."

I swallow the pill.

Pulling off my shirt, I lay back on the bed, willing my body and mind to relax. Natasha slides in next to me, pulling the covers up over us both. She's rubbing my head again, whispering soft endearments in Russian. _"Ya znal, chto naydU tebyA…__Mee sOz-da-nee drug dlya drU-ga…__Angel moy."_

I close my eyes and let the sound of her voice lull me into a deep dreamless sleep.


End file.
